


Reluctant Heroes

by Madame_Ashley



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Peril, Stonathan - Freeform, jonathan is the fearless believer, steve is the terrified (wishful) skeptic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Ashley/pseuds/Madame_Ashley
Summary: When the Party goes missing at a rumoured haunted house on the outskirts of Hawkins, Steve and Jonathan join forces to track them down.  Their simple search and rescue mission turns into more than they bargained for - in more ways than one.
Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington, Stonathan
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

The infamous Crawford Mansion was located on the Main Line, outside of Hawkins’ town limits. Rumour had it that near the turn of the century, wealthy recluse Walter J. Crawford had killed off three of his domestic staff by slow poisoning and that less than a month following these suspicious deaths, the spirits of the doomed staff had exacted their revenge: Mr. Crawford’s lifeless body was found at the foot of the mansion’s sweeping front staircase. 

Scandal and superstition had left the house vacant and impossible to sell for nearly eighty years. Even Crawford’s heirs had stayed away, fearing that the very grounds of the property were cursed.

If Dustin’s mom hadn’t called him in a panic, Steve would not be out here on Devil’s Night of all nights, with Jonathan Byers of all people. Steve had driven by the Byers’ place looking for Dustin, but neither Jonathan nor his mother had seen Will since dinnertime. Jonathan - ever the dutiful son - had volunteered to join Steve in a search for the missing Party.

Steve’s palms were sweaty on the wheel as the mansion’s imposing silhouette came into view through the ancient elms. He carefully navigated the car up the narrow driveway, flanked on both sides by overgrown brush, and came to a stop beside a massive cement fountain - once majestic, now moss-coated. He turned off the ignition with a sigh. “This is so stupid.”

“Look,” Jonathan murmured, gesturing to some familiar bicycles parked along one side of the house, handlebars glinting in the moonlight. He pulled a knapsack from the backseat and got out, but Steve remained in the car, his eyes pacing the impenetrable darkness outside, the incessant noise of his heart pounding in his ears. 

Jonathan crouched in the tall grass, his camera trained on the house, trying to line up a perfect shot of the mansion. Haunted mansion, Steve thought with a shudder. He rolled down the window, an unfortunate gust of chill wind pushing into the warm car. “Better not use the flash, Byers,” he called out. “You wouldn’t want to startle the demon!” His attempt at humour did nothing to calm Steve’s frayed nerves.

“It’s an entity,” Jonathan corrected, still squinting through the camera lens. “There’s a difference.”

“Thanks for the info, Byers. I’ll be sure to note that distinction when it’s ripping my throat out!” 

“Are you coming or what?” Jonathan stood on the front steps of the house, fearless in his camel pullover, the knapsack slung over his shoulder. He raised impatient eyebrows and indicated the front door.

Cursing, Steve got out of the car and followed Jonathan up the creaky steps to the weather-battered porch. “Oooh, look at all these cobwebs, Jon. This place is such a cliche, isn’t it?”

“Playing the smartass skeptic…is also a cliche,” Jonathan muttered, trying the rusty doorknob. The door didn’t give, but the whole house seemed to quiver with the brief contact. “Maybe we should break a window.”

“Or we could go home and call the cops, like normal people.”

“Normal people?” Jonathan snorted. He removed a flashlight from his knapsack and gave Steve an inquiring look.

“No, I didn’t bring a flashlight, boy scout. So what?” Steve said, patting the back pockets of his jeans and shrugging for effect. “I just figured that the little morons would have already wandered home by the time we got here.”

Jonathan shone his flashlight into each of the large windows along the porch in turn, leaning on the grimy frames for a closer look. “I can’t see anything, the windows are too dirty.”

Steve opened an imaginary notebook, screwing up his face and scribbling with an invisible pen. “Ghosts…make lousy housekeepers. Jonathan Byers…a boy genius?” But Jonathan was already down the steps and making his way around one side of the massive house, shouting the kids’ names into the night. 

Steve cupped his hands to warm them with his misty breath then jogged after Jonathan, regretting every step.

*******************

Having exhausted all efforts to gain entry via the house’s multiple entrances, the boys at last found themselves staring down at a pair rotting cellar doors. A corroded chain was still loosely woven between the doors’ handles but several attempts to kick the chain free had been unsuccessful. “Well, Byers, have you got any extra tricks in that knapsack of yours or did you figure that a camera and a flashlight would suffice to fight off supreme evil?”

Jonathan chewed a thumbnail and glanced up at the house, noticing something that caused him to draw back. “Jesus, did you see that?” he whispered, grappling to remove the lens cap from the camera hanging around his neck. 

Steve looked up at the still house but saw only a series of dark windows along the second floor. “I’m not seeing anything, Jon. Look, can we get out of here? I mean, if we can’t find a way in, there’s no way the kids are in there either.”

“That’s not how these things work,” Jonathan said, capturing a shot of the upper windows, then recapping the camera.

“What things, Jon? Doors? Locks? This is ridiculous.” Steve started to walk back in the direction of the car, hoping that Jonathan would follow. He was just turning the corner of the house when a long, low scream froze him in his tracks. He turned back and shouted for Jonathan, but he was gone.

“Come on!” Steve yelled, annoyed and panicked. He retraced his steps to the cellar, examining the muddy grass for any sign of Byers. No footprints, no knapsack. But leaning against one of the cellar doors, he spied something he was certain hadn’t been there before: an old, long-handled axe with a newly sharpened blade.

“Okay, Byers. Very, very funny - so you had an axe on you this whole time and you were just holding out on me…” He scanned the vast yard for his friend but Jonathan, if he was hiding, didn’t reveal himself.

Seeing no other option, Steve approached the cellar entrance, cursing under his breath. He wished his hands would stop shaking as he seized the axe handle and levelled the blade at the rusty chain across the cellar doors.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan’s eyes flew open, a scream dying in his throat. He was alone on the porch of the mansion, facing the locked front door. He called out for the kids and for Steve, but only the wind replied, moving cold and restless through the dry leaves of whispering elms.

His gaze settled on the door’s rusty knocker, which he could swear he hadn’t noticed before. Taking hold of the worn brass ring, he knocked three times. The house shuddered with the break in the silence but no answer came. 

Jonathan moved to leave the porch but a soft creak him gave him pause. The front door opened slowly inward then came to an abrupt stop, leaving a two-inch gap. He approached the door with caution. The house didn’t exactly frighten him but he’d seen enough horror movies to know not to trust it.

He pulled the flashlight from his knapsack, pushing the door open with the toe of his shoe. The flashlight’s beam illuminated a large, dusty foyer, high-ceilinged and devoid of any decoration, save the remains of an elaborate crystal chandelier hanging above a decrepit staircase. 

A loud thud echoed from below and Jonathan nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a short shriek in spite of himself. “Jesus Christ! Who’s there?!” he shouted, casting the flashlight beam around the room in every direction as he stepped back towards the door. 

His foot caught something slippery and he fell back, the dropped flashlight blinking out and skidding across the floor. He’d landed awkwardly on his side and a pain shot through his hip as he pushed himself up, grunting with disgust as his hands pressed into the slimy floor. 

“Don’t worry - it’s just pudding,” came a familiar voice from somewhere close by. 

Jonathan’s groping fingers found the flashlight and flicked it back on. He held the beam on the face of Max Mayfield as he stood up. 

“Dustin thought we’d be hungry,” she said, shielding her eyes against the light. “He’d packed a shit ton of pudding cups, but the minute we got in here, he freaked right out and fell right on his ass and all the puddings in the bag just smashed.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced anxiously around the dark room. She reminded Jonathan of Joyce just then, the way she rambled to shake off her fear.

“Okay,” he said softly, hoping to put Max at ease. “Why are you alone? Where is everybody?”

Max gave a shaky sigh. “That’s a good question. We all came in together, but chickened out right away and tried to leave but then …the front door was locked for some reason. Wait - how did you get in here?”

“The door was locked…and then it wasn’t.” Jonathan shrugged. There was another thump from the basement and he edged closer to Max. “We should get out of here. Where are the others?”

“Up until a few minutes ago, they were right here. They wanted to find another way out, but I was so freaked out that I insisted on hanging back to try my luck with this door... so stupid! When I turned my back on them…it was like they disappeared or something. Then I heard you knocking - I’m not crazy, right? That was you knocking on the door?” 

Jonathan nodded, struggling to suppress mounting terror.

“I knew it couldn’t be Lucas or the others knocking from outside, so I hid. I don’t know but…there’s something really not right about this place.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan murmured. His head felt fuzzy but they needed a plan. “We’ll prop this door open so it’s still unlocked when we get back.” He kicked a half-rotted rung from the disintegrating bannister, wedging it between the door and its frame. 

Three hollow bangs sounded from the basement. “Byers!” someone yelled through the floor. “Byers! Is that you? I’m wigging out here, man! This cellar is - oh, shit! What was that?!”

Jonathan dropped to his knees and banged on the floor with his fist. “Steve! Steve, listen to me! Try to find the stairs...we’ll be there soon!” There was no answer.

Max stared at him expectantly, but exhaustion was making it difficult to think clearly. 

“So I guess you and Steve came here together looking for us?” she said. “Did you split up on purpose, too?”

“No, it was…kind of same thing as you guys. We just sort of turned our backs on each other.” As he said it, Max’s eyes widened, reaching the same conclusion.

“Maybe we should stay close to each other,” she said, with what seemed like shyness. “I mean like… not like in a weird way or anything - just so we don’t lose each other.”

“Take my hand,” Jonathan said, not particularly concerned about whether that was weird. “If we lose each other, it’s like…like that’s what the house wants.”

Max gripped the sleeve of Jonathan’s sweater. “I think the boys and El went through there,” she said, gesturing to a dark doorway to the left of the staircase. 

They made their way carefully across the room, guided by the flashlight’s beam, the air feeling close and cool. Neither spoke a word as they approached the doorway, their ears trained for any sound from Steve or the others, but the silence of the house settled heavy and low around them.

The doorway led into a long, empty corridor. Cobwebs coated long-extinguished candles mounted in holders at intervals along one wall. “God, I hate this,” Max muttered. “When we find him, I’m going to throttle Mike for ever thinking this would be a good time. I swear…” At their backs, there came a sudden loud crack, followed by a short creak.

“No!” Jonathan screamed, shaking free of Max’s grip and grabbing her arm instead. He pulled her back to the foyer, just in time to see the front door slam shut and hear the solemn click of its lock being driven home.


End file.
